The High Seas
by Ytak
Summary: 500 Kingdoms (because I'd rather this be with other stuff the author has written than in a miscellaneous category) Peter signs on a ship as a cabin boy to support his mother and siblings but The Tradition has paths to follow for people like Peter.


Water lapped gently against the wood of trader ship. The sound of freight being loaded and shifted around covered most of the creaking of the ship. Gulls cried out as they circled overhead, looking for any easy scraps of food.

And on the dock, a nearly 14 year old boy nervously stood, watching the ship. The prospective cabin boy visibly straightened and thrust his chest out. A couple of nearby sailors grinned, everyone of them did the same thing for their first voyage.

"Don't worry, lad," one of them called out, "You'll have yer sea legs before the week it out."

The boy flushed and walked quickly to the ship. Recognizing the description of the first mate that his father gave him before he dies, the boy approached the first mate and introduced himself.

"'Scuse me, sir, but I'm Peter Williamson, my father was Howell Williamson-"

A smile split the frst mate's face and he interrupted the boy, giving him a hearty thump on the back, "What do you know! Ol' Howell's son. How is the old reprobate?"

"I'm sorry to tell you that he died about six months ago," Peter said, looking down at the worn wood of the dock. "He said before dying that I should look into signing on as a cabin boy with his old ship."

"Sorry for your lose, lad. Got a family to support?" Peter nodded in the affirmative. "Welladay, yer in luck. Our old cabin boy was just hired as a full sailor. I bet yer just as hard a worker as Howell. You just stay here with me, I need to oversee the loading and it'll be good for you to see the crew. In a bit, we'll go see the captain. He'll put you to work under the old cabin boy for a few days. He'll show you the ropes."

Peter nodded. "Yes, sir!"

A few hours later, the ship sailed out with the tide. Peter learned quickly that he suffered slight sea sickness but by the time the ship hit the open sea, he recovered. The former cabin boy took Peter all over the ship, showing him the ropes and testing his knowledge of ships.

When Peter finally crashed into his hammock, he silently thanked his father for teaching him about ships and knots, it served him in good stead that day and would for the rest of the voyage.

The following days were a blur as he rose with the sun and fell into the hammock every night into a dreamless sleep.

After a few weeks, he realized that he was not so tired at the end of everyday. Peter learned to love those nights. He admired the stars. The never seemed so bright in the city. And then there was the grog, music and stories.

His first day after his first night drinking grog was an experience that the former cabin boy told him was a right of passage.

The music was not so fine as the church choir; the sea roughened voices still carried on their song with enthusiasm and lyrics that would have had his mother after them with a bar of soap.

Peter loved it.

Then there were the stories of mermaids and horned fish, leviathan and kraken. The stories of the multi-tentacled ship killers sent chills down his spine. Still, none of the sailors had seen any of the creatures personally.

"That may be true, lad," said one grizzled old sailor, "But that don't mean you want to see one. Me own grandpappy was your age, a cabin boy like you, when he saw a terrific sea monster tear apart a fellow ship in convoy." The only sound of the water splashing and the ship creaking as the old sailor stopped talking. "Then he watched as the sea creature tore apart one ship after another. His own was one of the last the creature destroyed. He drifted for days on a hatch until a passing ship picked him up."

As the old sailor told the tale, Peter felt like he being pressed by a down by the very air itself. He found breathing difficult until the tale was done.

The rest of the sailors declared that would be the final tale of the night and began to pass the grog around in earnest. Peter took an extra pull of the grog as it came around to try to dispel the uneasy pressure. He worked his way into the ship and to his little hammock near the ladder. Though the location was a noisy one, it received the best breezes on the warm summer nights.

Sleep that night was filled with dreams of frightening and fantastic sea creatures in vibrant colors he only saw on the wealthy people. Some bore chests of gold and silver and others wore jewelry dripping with blindingly brilliant gems. And they used the bones of dead sailors to play frightening music.

Peter woke the next morning, the dreams only half remembered but what he could remember made him feel uneasy. And the red sky did nothing to ease the feeling away.

All the crew looked at the sky and moved quicker than normal, getting the tasks done just a smidge faster than normal. There were several near fights but nothing that required any physical discipline. The captain's experience meant he knew when to push the crew and when to give them a little leeway.

Peter tried not to shiver when he overheard the captain talking to the first mate about "ship killer weather on the horizon." By mid-morning, the sky was filled with large, dark clouds, threatening to break a storm over them but not breaking.

The clouds hung heavy over the ship until late in the afternoon when they blew in another direction and broke near the horizon. Peter had his ears boxed by the first mate when he dawdled too long, watching the storm and lightning.

The dreams plagued Peter again that night despite the sailors' tales being of the more mundane sort, gambling and fights and women wooed. The third night was much the same for the cabin boy.

The third day after the tales of the sea creatures dawned with glorious rays of sunshine and a steady wind. The crew sang songs as they worked.

But Peter felt even more uneasy than he had the day before. The day was too nice and everything was going too well. One of the most superstitious old sailors remarked on it to the cabin boy, "'Cause you youn' uns need to learn when things go too well." He eyed the boy out of the corner of his eye. "Yer a believer. I can see it. Listen to those feelins. They'll do you well."

Peter nodded politely and left the old sailor before he received any more chills. The wind off the ocean was warm but he still felt chilly. That night, he slept uneasily, his dreams a mix of the tales he heard with his daily duties.

The next day dawned grey. Rain threatened all morning long with a warm rain dousing the ship and crew about lunchtime. As the rain passed, the sun began to beat down on the ship and the wind stilled to almost nothing.

Peter sat in the shade cast by one of the sails. He listlessly stared out at the sea, sweat dripping off his forehead. One of the other sailors offered to dump a bucket of water on him. He shook his head. "Too hot. Don't need a bath." The sailor shrugged and dumped the bucket over his own head.

"Bah. You're right," the sailor muttered, sitting down next to Peter. "Not any cooler."

"Is this common?" Peter asked, "This kind of weather?"

"Eh, not really. But it can go on for days."

Peter groaned and bounced his head gently off the box he was leaning against. He could only be grateful that his own duties were lessened as the officers themselves were resting in the weather. Peter silently hoped that he would be called up to the crow's nest. He thought that any breeze that existed had to be up there.

"Boy! Get me a drink!" yelled the first mate. Peter leapt up and was running to the galley even before he belted out a "Yes, sir!"

The cook gave him a big grin, showing off his missing teeth. "Wan to stay 'ere an cool off?"

Peter shook his head and took the offered drink. He sighed enviously as he carried the drink to the first officer. The cook had been into the dwindling supply of ice that was kept for the officers. The drink was blessedly cold in his hands and he had to remind himself that if he became an officer one day, this would be one of the things to look forward to. Getting switched for taking a sip wasn't worth it. Was it?

He shook his head as he walked up the steps and handed the drink to the first mate. "Your drink, sir."

The first mate absently thanked him and continued his watch. Peter started to walk to the nearest shaded on the main deck when some movement in the ocean caught his attention. For a moment, he wanted to dismiss it as a whale or dolphin but something about it seemed wrong.

He turned to look. He knew there were a great number of things he had yet to see.

The tentacle rising up out of the water stopped him cold. He could hear a number of people rapidly rising and the sound of cursing. The crew froze as the end of the tentacle finally surfaced. In its grasp was a shark, thrashing around, trying to get free.

The sounds of more people rising from the deck and coming from belong reached Peter's ears. He jolted when he realized that he just walked into the railing of the deck. He grasped the rail.

The tentacle disappeared under the water. Peter started as a sailor grabbed him and told him to get to captain. Peter ran to the captain's quarters. He felt like he was tucked away in the corner of his mind as his body was controlled by some outside force.

Peter banged on the door, rousing the captain from his nap. He walked out of his quarters and to the first mate.

Then all activity on the ship ceased. The crew fell silent as the second tentacle rose from the water. It reached up and up and up, far above the crow's nest. Then, it reached down and wrapped around the crow's nest and snapped it off like a child breaking a stick. The sound of the splintering wood galvanized the crew into collecting makeshift weapons, to try to drive off the creature.

The rest became a blur as more tentacles rose around the ship and began gripping sails and rigging. Men hacked and beat the tentacles with no effect. They embraced the ship and squeezed.

With a sound crack, the ship split in two. Peter flew through the air and blacked out as he heard the cries of the sailors.

Minutes or hours later, Peter opened his eyes. One arm of his arms was draped over a door, just holding his head out of the water.

Peter grasped the door the once graced the entrance to the captain's room with his other hand. Weakly, he pulled himself up onto it as far as he could. The timbers of the nearby mast floating on the water creaked ominously but that was the only sound he heard.

There were no voices. No cries. Just water and creaking wood.

He shivered despite the warm day. Peter knew enough to know that he was probably the only survivor. It was just like the old sailor said. How many times had he heard of there being two survivors?

The stories always say help arrives just as the lone survivor is on the brink of death, he thought, swallowing nervously. But he doesn't always live after telling the tale, he thought, morosely.

Peter glared at the air, as if he could see the all powerful God that he was taught about. I refuse to die! I will live! he promised. I will.

Two days later, a cargo ship passing by found the wreckage and Peter. His tale served as proof that there were still dangers on the sea that were rarely heard of but still there.

* * *

Comments: I wanted to write a tale about someone being affected by the Tradition but doesn't know about it. I know Lackey has some something like this before but I wanted a non-romance centered story. :) Not that I don't like reading her stuff but sometimes a person wants something different.


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